


Lessen

by booyahkendell



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Related, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9242279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/booyahkendell/pseuds/booyahkendell
Summary: to make or become less; diminish; or, “I’ll help you.”Contains spoilers for S18, Episode 7





	

Sonny’s hands are red.

Red, and raw, and pink from scrubbing.

He’d scrubbed for hours.

But it still felt like the blood was there.

On his hands, in his hair, down his neck, across his _face_.

Red, and sticky, and hot.

Like it hadn’t wanted to leave the body that it come from.

Like it wanted to stay warm, protected by skin.

Sonny only remembers the blood feeling hot once he’d stepped outside of the house.

There’d been a gun pressed to his head, blood on his face, blood on his hands, blood on his clothes, blood _everywhere_ , and Sonny only remembers feeling cold.

He remembers feeling cold.

Numb, even.

And thinking of Rafael.

Not his mom.

Not Bella.

Not his niece, with a two-year birthday celebration just around the corner.

Not Amanda, or Benson, or Fin.

Not Gina or Theresa, either.

But Rafael.

It’s been six months, and Sonny thought of Rafael.

Sonny thinks that maybe that’s love.

Sonny thinks about the fact that, with a pistol to his head and his own weapon out of reach on the concrete floor beside him, that he’d thought of his boyfriend of six months and not a single one of his family members, and knows that he should feel guilty.

But Sonny just thinks that it’s love.

He’d been terrified for his life, terrified that in a matter of seconds it’d be his body laying cold on the ground, cold in that attic, cold with a bullet hole through his skull and no pulse in his wrist.

He hadn’t thought that he’d leave that house.

Maybe he’d leave, but it wouldn’t be how he’d come in.

Alive.

Outside of a body bag.

Thinking of Rafael.

Sonny had been cold, and he’d thought of Rafael.

Rafael’s warm skin.

Rafael’s warm hands.

His warm shoulders.

His warm chest.

His warm _everything_.

It hadn’t done much to quell his terror, to lessen the magnitude of the feeling of cool metal lined up with his skin, or the innate roundness that reminded him, with every inhale, with every exhale, that he was the one in front of a gun and not behind it.

It had lessened the numbness, though.

All week, Sonny had felt numb.

He knew that people had noticed, too.

Benson.

Amanda.

Fin.

Rafael.

Sonny didn’t want to be on the job anymore if it meant that he ended up like Cole.

Seeing the worst of the worst and coming out the other side a mere product of those experiences.

Coming out as less than half of yourself.

Coming out as half of what you’d gone in as.

Like in that house.

Cole had gone into that house alive, and he’d come out in a body bag, and he’d come out as half because a body was still there even if a life wasn’t, and who was to say that Sonny wouldn’t have been the same?

He was sure that he was dead, sure that the numbness was coming to a close, sure that his body was going to end up on the concrete floor of that farmhouse, and then he’d thought of Rafael and Sonny had felt ice shoot throughout his veins.

Rafael had reminded Sonny not to let the numbness take over.

Rafael had reminded Sonny _why_.

Why he was a cop, why what he did was important, and good, why he wouldn’t come out as only half of himself once this whole thing was over and done.

Rafael had made Sonny feel alive.

Sonny had thought of Rafael and felt ice in his veins, ice in his throat, ice in his chest, ice in his heart, and he’d prayed to the only God he knew that he’d leave that house alive.

Cole’s blood on him hadn’t felt hot until Sonny had stepped outside of the house.

It hadn’t been the sun.

The blood had still been sticky when he’d pressed the phone to his ear.

Rafael had answered after the second ring.

“Sonny, what is it, what happened? Benson said you were going to arrest Cole, is everything okay?”

The blood had felt warm.

“I’m…”.

Warmth. Rafael’s voice. Sonny was alive.

“I’m okay, Raf. Can I maybe go to your place after I get off?”

“Of course. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Warmth. Rafael’s voice. Sonny was alive.

“Can you just…try to leave the office early? Come back to your place? So I can see you?”

He knew he’d been lucky when Rafael hadn’t asked for any more details.

He’d said, “Of course, Sonny.”

And then, “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

Warmth.

The blood had been sticky, but it hadn’t been cold.

Sonny washes his hands again for the second time in thirty minutes.

He hasn’t showered yet, but he’s washed his hands.

Twice at the precinct, after they’d gotten back.

Before Sonny had even managed to un-holster his gun.

Twice after he’d thrown up, with Amanda’s hand rubbing soothing circles across his vest-covered back in the middle of the precinct’s men’s room.

Once – now twice – in Rafael’s kitchen sink.

He scrubs, and he has to use dish soap because it’s the only thing that Rafael has in his kitchen, and Sonny knows that if he drips all over Rafael’s apartment trying to find regular hand soap that Rafael will be pissed, and Sonny thinks that maybe if he scrubs long enough, _maybe if he scrubs hard enough_ , that he’ll stop seeing red.

His hands are stinging, his hands are raw, his hands are red, and Sonny wishes that he could take a shower and forget.

He wants to forget Quinn’s screams, he wants to forget the feeling of metal, he wants to forget stickiness, and red, he wants to forget feeling Cole’s blood in his _mouth_.

Sonny wants to scrub and forget.

He wants to get rid of the red, and remember thinking of Rafael.

Remember feeling alive.

Sonny only hears the door because he’s finally turned off the tap.

His hands feel cold again.

“Sonny? Are you here?”

Sonny hears Rafael’s briefcase hit the floor.

Hears his keys being dumped on the door side table.

Hears his footsteps getting louder until he’s in the kitchen, and he’s there, with Sonny, and Sonny feels like maybe, finally, he can forget.

“I called Liv after you hung-up. _You were held at gunpoint_ , Sonny. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sonny’s hands feel warm.

This is love, and Sonny knows it.

Rafael’s fear.

It’s written plain as day across his face.

He’s shaking a little bit, and his face is pale, and it looks like he’s been picking at his nails again.

The edges of his fingers, they’re raw just like Sonny’s hands.

Red, and raw.

Rafael loves him, and Sonny knows it.

“I’m sorry, I just…”.

Sonny wants to take away Rafael’s red.

Wants to take his hands, clean them, wash away the reminder like he’d done with his own.

Sonny wants Rafael to know that he’d thought of him when he’d felt least alive.

“I was still scared.”

Rafael’s hands stop shaking.

The fear is still there, Sonny knows.

He says, “Come here,” anyways.

Sonny finds Rafael.

Through the screams, through the blood, through the metal, through the cold.

Sonny finds Rafael and tucks himself away within his body.

Rafael is so warm.

Rafael is kissing Sonny’s forehead, over, and over, and over, and he’s holding Sonny so tight, and his arms are so strong where they keep Sonny pressed to him across Sonny’s back, and all Sonny can feel is warmth against his skin, warmth throughout his entire body, and he feels like he can finally forget the press of cool metal because Rafael’s lips are what’s against his skin.

“You haven’t showered yet,” he says, quietly.

Gently.

One of his hands leaves Sonny’s back.

He touches Sonny’s forehead, near his hairline.

His fingers are so warm.

Sonny knows that there’s blood still there.

“I’ll help you.”

Sonny pushes his face into Rafael’s neck, _and wants to forget_.

If he showers, there’ll be more red.

No matter how high Rafael turns the shower, it’ll all still feel so cold.

Running down his chest.

Dripping onto his hands.

Sonny doesn’t think he can handle feeling it run down his face again.

He knows he won’t be able to handle seeing it on Rafael’s hands.

“ _I’ll help you_ , Sonny. I promise.”

Rafael’s lips are still on his forehead.

Warm.

Sonny can barely feel the gun anymore.

“Just promise you won’t let go of me. Okay?”

Sonny hates the way his voice breaks on the word, but Rafael still says, “Okay.”

He keeps his promise all the way to the bathroom.

He only let’s go of Sonny while he turns on the lights and starts the water.

Sonny watches him turn the knob all the way to the right.

As hot as it’ll go.

Sonny appreciates the thought, though he knows that nothing will feel as warm as Rafael’s body close to his.

Rafael tries anyways.

He walks back over and takes Sonny’s hand in his.

Sonny notices that their hands aren’t quite so red anymore.

Sonny wishes he could say that was true for the rest of him.

Rafael’s hands are on the top of Sonny’s vest before he even finishes the thought.

His hands are so warm, and Sonny loves him.

He pops open all four buttons with one tug.

He pushes the fabric off of Sonny’s shoulders.

Let’s it fall to the bathroom floor.

He starts on Sonny’s tie next.

It has blood on it, Sonny knows.

Sonny wants to throw it away, but Rafael gave it to him.

On their one-month anniversary.

He’d handed it to Sonny, not even wrapped, and he’d said, “Here, keep this one in my closet. That way you can stop stealing mine when you spend the night.”

Sonny remembers thinking that Rafael was just annoyed at him, annoyed that Sonny couldn’t be professional and keep their relationship confined to within the walls of his apartment.

But then Sonny had put the tie on that morning, in front of Rafael’s bedroom mirror, and Rafael had stood by Sonny’s side and kissed his cheek and whispered, “Happy one-month anniversary, Sonny.”

He hadn’t even asked for anything back.

He’d just said, “Keep this one in my closet.”

He’d just wanted Sonny to know that he could stay.

It’s been six months, and Sonny doesn’t think he’ll ever leave.

It’s been six months, and Rafael finally gets the knot undone, and he pulls the tie from around Sonny’s neck, he looks at the blood, looks at the red seeping into the green, and he just says, “I’ll clean it.”

It’s been thirty seconds and Sonny knows that he’ll never leave.

Rafael discards his tie on the counter, next to the sink, where Sonny knows he’ll wash it later.

 _Hand wash_ it, because it’s delicate, and that’s how Rafael washes all of his ties, but this is different, because this is Sonny’s tie, dirty with another man’s blood, and Sonny loves him so much.

He moves to Sonny’s shirt then, to the buttons.

Undoes each one and lets it slip to the floor, next to Sonny’s vest.

Sonny unzips his pants before Rafael’s hands have left his shoulders.

He only steps back far enough for Sonny to slip his pants off, briefs going with, but Sonny feels the loss of warmth all the same.

He stands, cold, while Rafael undresses himself.

His shirt and slacks go on the floor, on top of Sonny’s, and he places his tie on the countertop, next to Sonny’s, and Sonny wants to tell him _to stop because his tie is dirty with another man’s blood_ , but Rafael puts a hand on his forearm and says, “It’s okay, Sonny. I’ll wash both.”

Then he says, “Come on. Let’s get in.”

His hand is in Rafael’s when the first spray of water hits him.

 _It’s hot_ and Sonny tastes blood in his mouth again.

It’s running down his face, down his chest, _and it’s hot_ , and Sonny doesn’t feel Rafael, he just feels it running down his body, and he blinks, he keeps blinking, _but it’s in his eyes_ , _and it’s hot_ , and it’s in his mouth, and _Sonny can taste it in his mouth_ , and –

“Sonny! Sonny, look at me. You’re here, you’re with me. We’re in my apartment, in my bathroom, in my shower, and its water. _Its water_.”

Rafael’s hands are on Sonny’s face.

They’re warm, not hot.

He’s solid, the water isn’t.

 _His hands are real_.

 _His skin is real_.

 _His fingers are real_.

 _He’s real_.

 _Its water_.

Sonny blinks.

Rafael’s hands are warm.

Its water.

“Its water, Sonny. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

 _With me_.

Sonny looks down and sees the droplets running down his chest.

Over his belly, falling into the drain beneath he and Rafael’s feet.

They’re more pale pink than red.

He wishes that made it hurt less.

“I’m going to wash your hair, okay? Can I do that, Sonny?”

He keeps his eyes on the drain.

Pink.

Dripping.

Sonny loves when Rafael washes his hair.

Sonny had thought he was joking the first time that he’d asked Sonny to do it.

But his hands had been gentle, and his voice had been warm, and the first brush of his fingers in Sonny’s hair had felt almost as good as the kiss that he’d laughed into Sonny’s mouth.

He’s washed Sonny’s hair every time that they’ve showered together since.

He’ll kiss Sonny, tangle his fingers in Sonny’s hair, and he’ll wash away the dirt and the grime that Sonny’s carried with him since leaving their bed.

Sonny doesn’t want him to now.

If he tangles his fingers in Sonny’s hair, _his hands will be red_ , and Sonny doesn’t want that _, Sonny knows he can’t handle that_ , the water will clean Sonny off, not him –

“ _I’ll help you_. Let me.”

Rafael’s hands are on Sonny’s chest.

He’s rubbing at a blood splatter near Sonny’s collarbone with his thumb.

 _I don’t want you to be red, though_.

He puts a hand on Sonny’s cheek.

“Just let me help you get clean.”

Sonny hates himself for the way that he turns into Rafael’s palm.

His face is wet, _and pink_ , and he shouldn’t be doing this, the water can clean him, _but Rafael is so warm_ , and Sonny loves him, and his solid hands, and _Sonny just wants to forget_.

“Can you just…keep your hands out of view?”

Rafael doesn’t ask why and Sonny loves him.

“Please, Rafi.”

Rafael nods.

He nods, and says, “Okay. Close your eyes.”

Sonny does.

There’s a few seconds of nothing but the water hitting Sonny’s skin.

Hitting his eyes.

His face.

His chest.

His body.

Then there’s something solid, and warm.

Solid hands tangling into his hair.

Scrubbing at his hairline.

Solid fingers making their way down his neck.

Across his head.

Behind his ears, underneath his jaw.

Scrubbing.

Solid, and warm.

A solid body pressed to his chest.

It’s been six months, and Sonny knows that he never wants to leave.

Rafael says, “Tilt your head back,” and he helps Sonny wash it all away.

It drips down his chest.

Down his neck.

Down his back.

Down his face.

Down his hands.

It keeps dripping, and Rafael pushes a hand through Sonny’s hair, and he pushes it all away.

He pushes it all away, down the drain.

Sonny opens his eyes before Rafael’s done, and he sees Rafael’s hands, solid, and strong, _and real_ , _and warm_ , _and they’re not red_.

 _He’s not red_.

“Sonny, are you okay – “.

He’s not red, and Sonny kisses him.

Rafael kisses back, and Sonny loves him.

 _This is solid_ , _this is real_ , _he’s not red_ , _and you’re not_ , _either_ , _its water_ , _this is home_ , _he’s home, and it’s been six months_ , _and you’re never going to leave_.

“Thank you, Rafi. Thank you for helping me get rid of it.”

Rafael doesn’t stop kissing him.

He just holds on a little bit tighter to Sonny’s face.

Presses his forehead a little bit harder against Sonny’s.

Breathes into Sonny’s mouth a little bit deeper.

 _And neither will he_.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing anything even close to resembling angst, so.
> 
> Comments/feedback on how I did would be greatly appreciated!
> 
> I love you all, my Barisi loves.


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